


The Second Prophecy

by SonOfGondor



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Boromir still dies, Gen, I'm Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 15:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15100052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonOfGondor/pseuds/SonOfGondor
Summary: Seek for the Sword that was broken:In Imladris it dwells;There shall be counsels takenStronger than Morgul-spells.There shall be shown a tokenThat Doom is near at hand,For Isildur’s Bane shall waken,And the Halfling forth shall stand.This prophecy was the one that both Boromir and Faramir dreamt. However, what if there was a second prophecy? One that Boromir keeps to himself for a good reason?





	The Second Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this years ago in Dutch and this is a translation. Hope you enjoy it somewhat

Boromir stared over the railings of the great walls of Minis Tirith. Before him the entire kingdom stretched out, and far away he could even see the threatening shadow of the East. However, his thoughts were dwelling on the future: Faramir had been dreaming for many nights now, about a dark sky and a prophecy. And last night he’d had the same dream, followed by something that still stirred fear inside of him. He had seen his own death. Yesterday already he’d offered to go to Imladris in Faramir’s stead. His little brother, he knew, would not survive the journey, and he loved him far too much to let him go. He hadn’t doubted for a second, not even when he had woken up and the words of the prophecy echoed in his head:

_About Imladris he will learn_

_Never to return_

_When the Halfling forth does stand_

_Denethors son will die in distant land_

He knew what role he was to play in the prophecy, and he knew fate had showed him his own death. It was _he_ that had felt the pain and the fear, not Faramir. No, not him. He swallowed and shook his head. Could he change his mind now? He was scared, yes, but he was much more scared of what would happen if he didn’t go. Faramir never told him about a second dream, but this prophecy could be interpreted in two way. Denethor had two sons, and only the one who’d travel to Imladris would die.

“Faramir, is this all you’ve seen?”

His brother nodded, a little confused by the tone in Boromir’s voice.

“That was all.”

Boromir sighed. “Then I know what to do when I find Imladris.”

This prophecy was vague and could be interpreted in so many way, and there were so many things unclear yet. Faramir looked at him, his eyes soft.

“I’m sure you’ll return, brother.”

The simple trust in Faramir’s voice nearly brought him to tears, and yet he fought them back. He knew this would be the last chance to tell him about the second prophecy, but if Faramir knew, he’d never let him go. Destiny is not to be fought, because it’ll always claim what’s hers. Because Denethor has two sons.

“Farewell, little brother,” Boromir said, staring at his brother one last time. “Remember this day.”

He wondered if he’d see Minis Tirith before his death. He thought not, and looked at the white city until it disappeared from view, until he could see every detail when he closed his eyes.

* * *

 

Softly leaves descended down to the ground and laid there, unbothered by the peoples of Middle-Earth arguing and talking and listening. He had traveled for 110 days to be here, and he had spoken to Elrond about the prophecy. But he had concealed some of the truth, for he had not spoken of the second prophecy. He hadn’t lied, he had come here for information, but he had come to die too. Elrond didn’t have to know. The second prophecy was for Boromir alone, his burden to bear. He’d take this secret into his death, for he’d suffer the pain and the fear alone.

“When the Halfling forth does stand,” he whispered, as he watched Frodo come forth.

He knew what it meant, and Frodo knew too. They had something in common through all of their differences: these steps meant their deaths. For the both of them. He saw the fear in Frodo’s eyes, the same fear that had taken his own heart. Still, their paths would be so different. Would the Halfling survive?

Aragorn’s existence had explained so much: He carried the sword of Isildur, and the ring that the Halfling had brought to them was Isildurs bane. It might have brought so much sorrow to Isildur, but Boromir couldn’t help but think of what it could bring to Gondor. Would it be Gondor’s bane too, or would it be the one weapon that could defeat the enemy? He longed for it, played with the thoughts of saving the White City, was called by the golden glimmer, saw visions of a Gondor reborn, and deep down knew it was not to be his fate to return there. And still, he wondered if fate could be rewritten.

And so the fellowship was created, and so they departed from Imladris. Elrond had taken up Frodo’s offer, and with him came Gandalf, and Gimli the dwarf and Legolas the elf. Three hobbits too came, and Aragorn was there, promised to travel back with him to Gondor. To his home. But home was away and far, and deep down he knew he was never to see it again. Still he didn’t turn back and fled back into the valley. He had to go.

 

* * *

 

He had failed. He knew it. He knew it, and this mistake he could never repair. He had tried to take the ring from Frodo. The voice in his head calling him to the ring had spoken louder and clearer with every passing day, and finally he had given in. Galadriel had warned him, yet he had not listened. He was to pay the price now.

He heard soft cries of fear, and recognized the voices of the hobbits. Awaked as from a trance he jumped up and ran to their cries. How foolish he’d been! Was it too late now to set it right? Was it too late to die with honour? What was left to be proud of? Because he knew. He found his dream coming back to him, and he knew this was where he was to die. Still he ran to his doom. One last deed to make right what is wrong. One hopeless try for a hopeless man. For the hobbits, may they not end as he would. He saw the relief in their eyes as he fought the orcs. So brave the Halflings were, fighting such a great foe. He couldn’t take them into his grave with him, so he blew his horn. It was said that there’d always be help for a man of Gondor when the horn sounded, but he didn’t know if there was hope still.

“Run!” he urged the hobbits, as he jumped in front of them. However, they did not flee. How could they? Their foes had surrounded them. And then, when a giant Uruk Hai with a bow arrived, he knew he stared his doom in the eyes. It was the orcs surrounding the Halflings he was forced to focus on, and when the first arrow hit, he never saw it coming. He felt pain as he’d never felt before, as no wound had ever hurt him this way. It brought him to his knees, but he refused to let it kill him. No. it wasn’t over yet. He screamed in anguish and stood up, attacked his foe again and slayed him. For how long would he be able to stand against them?

He only had to look up to see the second arrow before it hit it. Pain took him, making moving unbearable, and he fell to his knees again as his sight faded. Was this to be the end? The hobbits stared at him, their mouths agape in shock. He couldn’t let them be captured. No. Through the pain there was only them, and he got up again. He’d want only their safety, only their lives to be spared. And then the third arrow hit him, robbing him of all strength. He could see the hobbits being taken away from him, and he knew the end had come.

 

* * *

 

And then Aragorn was there, and he pushed away the Uruk Hai that was about to shoot him. The arrow that was to kill him flew away and landed in a tree. It didn’t end any of the pain and the fear, and what the dream hadn’t prophesized: regret. He regretted not defending the hobbits, but he regretting trying to take the ring for himself, he regretted scaring Frodo. He regretted his failure, and he regretted never being able to see the White City again. He found his eyes closing as he dreamt of green pastures and the White City, and then Aragorn was there, with him.

“They took the little ones,” he spoke, and every word burned as fire.

“Lay still,” Aragorn replied.

“Where’s Frodo?”

“I let Frodo go,” he said, and both of them knew what those very words meant. He had gone, unwilling to share his burden. What would become of him now?

He told Aragorn the truth. About Frodo and the ring, about the White City and his fears about Gondor. There was not enough time to speak all he wanted to say, not enough time before his vision blacked.

“I’ll not let our people die.”

“Our people.” He smiled a last smile. “Our people.”

Finally he understood. Finally both Boromir and Aragorn understood the truth of mankind. Finally Aragorn would be the king of Gondor, take up the sword, and Boromir had fulfilled his destiny. He was but a chain in a much greater destiny. Aragorn handed him his sword, and Boromir clung to it as if a last lifeline. He wished for many things, wished he could see his brother and the White Tower again, but as he looked into the face of his friend, he knew he looked at the face of a king.

“I would have followed you, my brother… my captain… my king.”

And with those parting words he let the darkness take over.

 

“Be at peace, son of Gondor.”


End file.
